Sustainable Tourism: Preserving and Showcasing Peru´s Treasures

Belen market, Iquitos

Allow me to make a few introductions.  First Carlitos, an independent guide who works in Arequipa and Colca Canyon country.  Carlitos is a young, 20-something-year-old Peruvian who´s finishing his studies in tourism while living the life of a full-time guide. Second is Gart, general manager of San Pedro Lodge in the heart of the Amazon. Gart is a Dutchman who moved to Peru 6 years ago and wound up sharing his love for the Amazon by taking over the reins at San Pedro Lodge in April.

While these men´s backgrounds—and the regions where they´ve chosen to work—differ vastly, their thoughts are consumed by a common problem: sustainable tourism in Peru.

I´ll admit that I, like many people, hadn´t given much thought to the concept of ¨tourism¨ before coming to Peru. As a child, most of my family vacations were to other U.S. cities, where the negative impacts of tourism are mostly observed in the form of chain restaurants and brand name stores stamping out competition from local retailers and mom and pop shops. But in a country like Peru—where interest in cultural, historical, and ecotourism is exploding—the subject cannot be ignored. 

During our Colca Canyon trek, I remember that Carlitos mentioned the struggle of balancing the expectations of tourists with the needs of the local citizens of Tapay, Cosnirwa, and Malata. He´s trying to figure out how he can give tourists a ¨local¨ experience without exploiting the natives or making them seem ¨primitive¨ or ¨exotic.¨ And he´s also grappling with the best way to share the capital generated from canyon tourism: is it better to let the locals sell their own products or to give them a cold cut of the money?

Taken on the boat ride back to San Pedro Lodge.

In the Amazon, the implications of tourism are both economic and environmental. Over a glass of camu camu juice, I heard Gart discussing jungle tourism with a man from San Pedro village.  Gart stressed the importance of educating local community members about the dangers of pollution and deforestation, both of which put native plant and animal species at-risk. He also noted that this type of carelessness drives tourists—who come to the jungle looking for an opportunity to ¨commune¨ with nature—away.  Yet locals argue that until they start reaping the benefits of tourism—increased cash flow and employment opportunities—the logging industry is their only viable career path.

In fact, all of Peru´s greatest treasures are simultaneously vulnerable to and dependent upon tourism. On the border between Peru and Bolivia, locals who inhabit the islands of Lake Titicaca have notoriously (and repeatedly) been cheated their fair share of tourism capital by the agencies who ferry travelers there, leaving the locals with very few resources to provide their families with food and shelter.

Not just a picture of Machu Picchu´s impressive terraces: notice the string cutting the photo diagonally. It´s there to measure the movement of the stones and the mountain.

Even the country ´s crown jewel, Machu Picchu, is in danger. According to the National Chamber of Tourism, the site will have attracted at least 1 million visitors this year alone. This signifies a giant boom for Peru´s economy, but it also means  the Inca´s most impressive achievement is rapidly eroding and deteorating. Due to poor regulations of the site, UNESCO has, on several occasions, threatened to put the ruin on its list of World Heritage sites in Danger.

With the potential for the Amazon jungle to be included on the list of the New 7 Natural Wonders, it will be interesting to see if—and when—the Peruvian government will start making aggressive changes to the tourism biz to protect the country´s natural and manmade wonders. Unfortunately, with the industry generating over $3 billion in revenue this year, the likelihood of short-term changes looks dismal.

For now, like it so often happens, our hope is not in the hands of the national government, but in individuals like Gart and Carlitos.

Tales from the Jungle: Ophidiophobia

I stood with an orange-spotted anaconda around my neck, waiting for someone to snap a picture.  Accessorizing with a necklace that could constrict at any moment is not how I pictured spending my last vacation in Peru, and yet, there I was, smiling stupidly.

See, as far back as I can remember I’ve been afraid of snakes.  On a fourth grade field trip, I remember running through the reptile house, shielding my eyes with my palms and looking straight ahead, too afraid to meet the eyes of a boa or a python. The first time I saw someone holding a constrictor on the streets of Key West during a family vacation, I had a similar reaction: run.  My fear of snakes is so ingrained that I can’t even do a Google search for the word “snake”— I’m too afraid of what I may find.

So how did I come to find myself with an anaconda draped around my neck in Iquitos, Peru?  Maybe an accurate way to describe it is peer pressure. All of the other interns here have traveled to Iquitos, leaving my roommate and me listening to second-hand experiences and praises for weeks.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” our co-worker, Eric, bragged. “One of the best trips I’ve taken in my life.  You have to go.”

“But what about my fear of snakes?” I asked, imagining the jungle to have a snake dangling on every tree branch, the grass infested with slithering bodies and darting tongues.

¨Didn´t see even one, ¨ Eric countered.  ¨Don´t let that hold you back.¨

Reluctantly I booked my plane ticket and began my mental preparation for a snake-filled adventure. Being a highly anxious person, I always feel my best shot at reducing stress is having a plan for the worst case scenario, no matter how ludicrous that situation may be. So what I imagined in this case is that at one point or another, I´d be bitten by a poisonous snake during a jungle hike or in my slumber at the lodge.  Sounds silly, but I truly believed there was a good chance the lodge manager would have to ferry me to the local clinic after a snake attack.

The other thing I do to prepare myself for a possible snake encounter is to review everything I know about snakes.  This preparatory work is highly annoying to anyone within listening distance, because for weeks on end I blabber on about how snakes can open their mouths 180 degrees and swallow their prey whole; how they can slither, swim, leap and climb with their legless, wingless, finless bodies; how with one swift movement, they command so much power, while I have always been awkward, shy, clumsy, indiscrete. To be a snake, then—so natural, so adaptable—is to be the opposite of me.

My roommate, Maureen, was perhaps the best person I could have traveled with to the jungle. That´s because she also has high anxiety levels and understands all my mumbo-jumbo about needing to mentally prepare myself and have an exit strategy.  This trip forced her to confront her greatest fear, too: flying. So in the weeks leading up to our trip, many of our conversations were held completely in the world of worst case scenarios: What if the plane crashes? What if the plane crashes in the middle of the jungle and we survive, only to find ourselves surrounded by hungry snakes? And, perhaps worst of all: What if there are snakes on the plane, as chronicled in the notoriously terrible Samuel L. Jackson movie of the same name? We tried our best to come up with hypothetical solutions for everything.

During our conversations, I also organized my fear of snakes into perceived threat levels.  The psychological term for this, I later learned, is a ¨fear ladder.¨ My fear ladder is categorized, much like terrorism threats, by color:

•    Highest threats—Black, brown, and dark green snakes. Also: cobras, rattlesnakes, and anything over 3 ft.
•    Mid-range—Brightly colored snakes (even though these tend to be more poisonous than black or green snakes).
•    Lowest threats—Albino snakes. Can´t be sure why, but I have a sneaking suspicion that maybe it´s because I saw Britney Spears hold one at the MTV Video Music Awards and still live on for many more pelvic-thrusting, lip synching years…

Britney paving the way.

Of course, when I arrived to the jungle, I was happily surprised to have no immediate reptile encounters. In fact, the encounter didn´t come until we visited the local zoo.  Remembering my fourth grade experience, I knew the dreaded moment was most likely upon us.

Trying to diffuse the situation, Maureen asked our tour guide, Gino, if we´d be seeing any snakes during our visit, explaining my fear to him.  This was a grave mistake, as Gino not only answered in the affirmative, but used the opportunity to tell a series of stories about encounters he and every person he´d ever met had had with snakes. One involved his hand swelling up for two weeks after being bitten (in turn legitimizing my own fear of a poisonous snake bite), while in another story, he chronicled the tragic story of a hunter being swallowed alive. 

These were like ghost stories to me, and my fear grew with every tale; as I rounded each corner, I expected to find snakes slithering at my feet. Or, even worse, dropping suddenly from the branches above.  My face became flushed from the heat and the fear. I tried my best to stay behind Gino and Maureen in the event of a snake encounter, but not so far behind that a snake could slither out of nowhere and come biting at my heels. 

Just when I thought I couldn´t take the suspense any longer, the climactic moment came:  ¨There the man is standing, waiting to take your picture with the snake, ¨ Gino said calmly.

¨Can´t we just take a different route? ¨ Maureen asked, noticing how my body had stiffened.

¨No, we have to walk this way to see the other animals, ¨ Gino explained.

¨That´s okay, ¨ I tried to gulp down my fear. ¨Let´s just walk past it and move on.¨  

¨But it´s not going to hurt you, ¨ Gino insisted.

I shook my head.

He laughed. ¨You´re the first American I meet who’s afraid.  Strange.¨

¨Really?  Because I know lots of people who are afraid of them, ¨ I retorted. ¨Maybe they just don´t come to the jungle.¨ What I really meant to say is, Maybe they´re not stupid enough to come to the jungle.

Gino laughed again, walking towards the snake.  He plopped down next to it on the bench, where it was coiled, liberated from its owner, allowed to slither freely.

The anaconda did not move.

¨See? ¨Gino pressured.  He began to pet the snake´s sculpted body.

The snake´s owner hustled over, excited to reign in the sale. He was old, tanned, and wearing a tank top and beach shorts. ¨¿Una foto?¨ He encouraged. ¨Tres soles. Varias posturas.¨ Varias poses. As if I even wanted one.

¨Tiene miedo,¨ Gino offered, pointing to me in my cowardice.

The old man, determined not to lose the sale, hurried to pull out a book of pictures, which he believed would assure me of the snake´s good track record. There were bikini-clad girls wearing it, grown men making kissy-faces at it, even a girl who looked no older than 8 wearing the oversized constrictor on her petite frame.

Gino pointed at the last photo.  ¨See? Even the little girl´s not afraid.¨

Do you kind of want to hold it?¨ Maureen broke in, the only reasonable voice of the bunch. She understood my mixed fascination and fear, noticing how my eyes were transfixed on the anaconda´s every movement.

¨Yes,¨ I admitted. ¨But I think there´s a 50% chance I will flip out.¨

¨Want me to hold it with you?¨ She offered.

I nodded. ¨As long as you hold the head.¨ It was a ridiculous request, but I knew it would make me feel better.

With our consent, I watched as the toothless man eagerly draped the black bodied, orange-spotted beast over Maureen´s shoulders, still holding onto its head.  Then he offered the head to me.

I bristled again, my heart rate quickening. This wasn´t how the arrangement was supposed to work.  Maureen was supposed to hold the head and me, the less scary lower half. Normally I am somewhat timid in expressing my desires, but in this case, which I neurotically considered one of life and death (despite countering photo evidence), I abandoned all reservations.

¨La cabeza para ella, ¨ I insisted, pointing to Maureen.

The man nodded in acknowledgement, motioning me to the other end of the snake, which he lifted onto my neck and shoulders. He put the tail in my right fist and the head in Maureen´s left.

At least it had orange spots, only a medium threat...

I expected the snake to start coiling, but it did not move.  I realized it had probably been heavily sedated to interact with tourists, and that I was just perpetuating its torture by giving the toothless man my business. For the first time in my life, I felt something close to compassion for a snake.

But it was too late now. The anaconda was on me.

The sensation was so surreal that I can´t accurately describe it. For all the anxiety, all the mental preparation, all the hype, the snake-holding itself does not hold a prominent place in my memory. Because Maureen and I were sharing the burden, the anaconda´s weight was not overwhelming.  And because the jungle beast was sleepy and inactive, there was no movement to recall.

The snake hung limp and lifeless over our sweating bodies, like a large prop. Only an occasional flick of the tongue indicated its true vitality. 

¨Chicas valientes,¨ Gino said, nodding approvingly after the photos had been taken and the snake had been removed from our shoulders.  ¨Let´s go.¨

But I knew it wasn´t as simple as that. Just because I´d held a drugged anaconda once did not mean I would forever be cured of my fear. I had been somewhat prepared for this encounter; the greatest fear comes from surprise ones.

Still, it was a step forward, so I kept walking.

Jungle Bound

Friends, I´m happy to report that the decision has been made of where to spend my final vacation in Peru: as of this Sunday, I´m jungle bound.

The trip couldn´t be any better-timed.  Exactly two weeks ago—on November 11, 2011—the Amazon made the provincial list of the New7Wonders of Nature. While the results of this competition won´t officially be announced until early 2012, inclusion into the New7Wonders campaign could mean the beginning of a second tourist boom in Peru. The country´s economy is still riding high off the 2007 competition, which selected Machu Picchu as one of the new man-made wonders amongst the ranks of Chichen Itza (Mexico), the Taj Mahal (India), and the Great Wall of China.

My visit to the Amazon will be based in and around Iquitos, the largest city in the world only accessible by air or boat. But my tracks will only be making a minuscule dent in the Amazon´s density, which spreads an impressive seven million square kilometers and totals over half of the world´s existing rainforests.  Its vastness and diversity (containing 1 in every 5 living species) is incomprehensible.

So what´s on the itinerary? My wonderful roommate Maureen and I will see pink dolphins, jaguars, manatees, toucans, and mosquitoes (default). How will a girl who winces at the mere mention of snakes make it through the jungle unscathed? Well, that´s for another blog. 

In the meantime, I´m preparing for my jungle excursion the only way that makes sense: by listening to songs that make shameless and distasteful allusions to it:

Kool & The Gang/ Jungle Boogie

The Beach Boys/ In the Jungle (The Mighty Jungle)

The Troggs/ Wild Thing

Guns N´ Roses/ Welcome to the Jungle

The Rolling Stones/ Monkey Man

Emma Louise/ Jungle

Jay-Z and Kanye West / Welcome to the Jungle

Stay tuned.

Creamfields Wasteland: A Short Parable

Creamfields Perú, 2011: I could tell you about how my roommates and I prepared for the all-night electronic concert by sleeping all day, shoveling heaping forkfuls of pasta in our gullets and smuggling cereal bars into the remotest pockets of our purses.  I could tell you about how David Guetta got the party started with his Top 40 dance hits and spark-shooting robot aides. I could tell you about the performances of other main stage dance DJs—John Digweed, Laidback Luke, Afrojack.  But instead, I want to tell you a precautionary tale.

Entering Fundo Mamacona (the Creamfields venue) on Saturday night was like locating paradise for twenty-somethings along the Panamericana Sur highway: balmy air, well-manicured lawns, skyscraping palm trees and free cigarettes at the entranceway; stands selling beer, Red Pull, pizza and anticuchos (shish-kebab cow heart) to nourish the mobs throughout the night; tarps laid down in front of the staging areas to catch the fallen debris from careless, hungry/thirsty hands.

At first, the tarp ingenuity seemed to work.  When we stole away to the central open area from the bobbing sea of bodies after Guetta´s set, there was plenty of space to accommodate or group.  We sat cross-legged or stretched out on the grass, idyllically sipping on our beers, breathing in the springtime air, and listening to the pulsing music from afar.

But the harmony between man and nature did not last.  The more beers consumed, the more plastic cups disposed.  Garbage cans piled over.  With the constant movement, the tarps did not catch the debris as anticipated. All of the trash migrated to border between tarp and grass, creating junk fences for concert-goers to leap over on their travels to and from the staging area.

The mobs must have gotten hungry during the second and third sets, because the next time we went in search of green space, plates and personal pan pizza boxes littered the lawn. You had to kick the orphaned cardboards out of the way to make a suitable space to sit, while lying down lost its allure entirely.  When the sun came up again, there were no clean spaces in which to sit at all: bodies still rested, but they slept with plastic pillows.

Sure, sure, I know recklessness is the object of any all-night concert, and that teams of cleaning crews would be coming in the next day to restore the garden to its original pristine state; by the following nightfall, there´d be no traces of the Creamfields wasteland at all.  But where would be that garbage´s final destination, and who would be swooping in then to clean things up?